


If You're Unlucky

by protectoroffaeries



Series: High School AU Stories [6]
Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Class Issues, F/M, Family Angst, High School AU, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Regular Teenage Angst, Sequel, The Dead Men, probably a happy ending though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8056804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectoroffaeries/pseuds/protectoroffaeries
Summary: The boys are back.... and hoping for the "normal" high school experience after the tragedies and drama of their sophomore year. But nothing is ever exactly normal, and there certainly isn't one way to grow up. Erskine Ravel isn't ready for the rollercoaster ride that becomes life, but, unfortunately, he's strapped in for the long ride. (At least he has his boyfriend to help him.)





	1. Church

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the sequel to How (Not) to Grow Up and part of my High School AU. It's from Erskine's perspective, and it should be about the same length as How (Not) to Grow Up. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Erskine! Erskine, hurry up, we're going to be late!” his ma shouted from the bottom of the stairs. Erskine rolled over groggily and glanced around the room. What was she yelling about again?

“Erskine Ravel, if I come up there, and you're still in bed, there'll be no going to Hopeless’ for at least two weeks!”  _ Fuck. _ Erskine rolled again, this time out of bed. His feet his the floor with a loud thump, and he rushed over to his closet.

Erskine pulled off the t-shirt and boxers he'd slept in and tossed them into the overflowing hamper at the bottom of his closet. He grabbed a clean pair of boxers, put them on, and glanced around for his deodorant. It was sitting on his nightstand. He snatched it up and used it.

Erskine flicked through his extensive collection of t-shirts and selected a Star Wars one to wear. He was just about to put in on when his ma shouted up at him again.

“We're going to church, so you better not be wearing one of those t-shirts!” She sounded closer; Erskine thought she was probably on the stairs.

He threw the Star Wars shirt back into the closet and put on a plaid button up instead, cringing a little as he did. Plaid wasn't really his thing, but his mom said he ‘looked cute’ in it. He snorted. If people dressed by what their mom thought was cute, then they'd all look like dorks.

He bypassed the high stack of jeans for the one pair of khaki slacks he owned and put them on. 

Now that he was mostly dressed and only rummaging for a clean pair of socks, he took a moment to wonder why they were going to church. His ma wasn't religious; the last time she'd gone to church was when her ma died. Erskine remembered the funeral service - it was long and boring and sad. He was twelve at the time. That experience didn't exactly leave a positive impression of churches on him. 

“Why are we going to church?” Erskine asked as he burst out of his room and narrowly avoiding barrelling directly into his ma. She stood just outside his door with her arms crossed over her chest. She was dressed in a red blouse and a modest skirt, and her hair was loose as opposed to the tight bun she typically wore to work. 

“Erskine, I told you about this on Thursday,” she said with a sigh. 

“I wasn’t listening,” Erskine replied honestly.

“Eveline’s daughter was supposed to ‘go out and make disciples’ as her Sunday school homework. She gets some sort of prize if she can get someone new to come to church.”

Right. Erskine vaguely recalled the conversation now, but he had been in a hurry on Thursday afternoon. He’d stayed at school late talking to Mr. Deuce, and then he met Hopeless at the library… he’d been home for all of twenty minutes. Which was probably why he’d totally forgotten about the discussion with his mother. 

Eveline Anderson was his ma’s best friend, and her eight year old daughter, Abigail, always followed Erskine around like a little duckling whenever she could. He’d forgotten they were religious, too - Eveline never acted particularly devout. But Abigail would probably be excited to see him. 

“That’s it?” Erskine asked all the same. The truth behind his ma’s reasoning seemed… anticlimactic somehow. 

“What were you expecting?” Ma asked, and then she turned on her heel and headed down the stairs. 

***

Ten minutes into the service, and Erskine already wanted to leave. It was hot, for one thing, and everyone was singing for some reason, and Abigail kept tugging on his shirt. She was a little blond girl with huge dimples and doe eyes, and her puppy dog face usually got her what she wanted, but Erskine refused to be coerced into anything by a second grader. He knew she wanted him to sing, too. He could feel it. He was not singing.

After the singing was over, all the children and teenagers were released to their Sunday school classes. Abigail grabbed his hand and led him away, and Erskine gave his ma a pleading look, but she just gestured for him to go and be good. 

Which was how Erskine ended up sitting in a circle with a group of six to seventeen year olds in a back room. There was also a grown woman there, ever peppy, and she gave Abigail a couple candies when Abigail presented Erskine as her victim. Erskine noticed that there were a few other kids that looked confused and out of place. Others brought along as part of this assignment, then. 

Erskine didn’t listen to much of the lesson. Something about Jesus. Religion wasn’t really his thing, and the woman teaching wasn’t all that engaging. After the lesson, Abigail led him over to a table of donuts. They were good donuts; almost worth getting out of bed for. 

It was about this time that Erskine noticed one of his classmates was actually in attendance. Perhaps he should’ve paid more attention when they were in a circle. But then, it hardly mattered. Erskine didn’t know Jace Mevolent all that well anyway. The guy was kind of a dick, though. Erskine was surprised he went to church. Although, just because someone was religious didn’t mean they couldn’t be a dick. 

Various parents began to trickle into the room at that time, grabbing their little ones and dragging them home. A man walked up to Mevolent and began speaking to him. Erskine assumed he was probably the boy’s father. Then Erskine noticed his ma and her friend wander into the room and ushered Abigail in their direction. He wanted to go home. Religion didn’t work with him. 

  
  



	2. Hopeless

Everyone loved Hopeless.  _ Everyone _ . The teachers. The other students. The little old ladies on the street. The soccer moms in their mini vans. The guy who gave him free fries over at McDonald's. Hopeless was perfect: he got the grades, he was polite and helpful, he even had the unique ginger coloring.

These circumstances, of course, made Hopeless into a devil whenever no one else was around. And Erskine, as his boyfriend, certainly counted as no one.

It was Erskine’s job to make the morning announcements over the school intercom in the morning, and Hopeless always accompanied him. He could get away with being late to class - a perk of everyone loving him. The secretary was usually in the office with them while they made the announcements - it was his office, after all - but he was out sick, and so it was only Erskine and Hopeless. 

“Hopeless, get off of me.” Hopeless had hopped up onto Erskine’s back as soon as they were alone and was now demanding a piggyback ride. He was basically Larrikin as far as maturity went - he just had exceedingly good impulse control.

“You can hold me and do the announcements at the same time,” Hopeless said, nuzzling his cheek against Erskine’s. 

“You’re heavy.”

“You wound me.”

“How have you managed to convince everyone you’re an angel?” Erskine grunted. The first bell rang, which alerted him that he had about five minutes before he could start making the announcements. One of the administrators always left them beside the speaker.

“I am an angel,” Hopeless declared, and then he let go of Erskine, and the sudden shift in weight ended with both of them on the floor. 

“It’s the sweater vest,” Erskine said after a moment of rubbing his arm where it’d banged against the floor. “That’s how you convince them.”

Hopeless laughed and got to his feet, brushing off his aforementioned sweater vest and his slacks. “I am a good person, Erskine, and if you’re suggesting that I’m so manipulative to simply mislead the town into believing that rather than actually being that, I’ll have you know that is highly offensive.”

Erskine slapped Hopeless on the shoulder, and Hopeless had the guile to look upset about this. He threw his hand over his heart to add to the effect. Erskine rolled his eyes. 

“I went to church this weekend,” commented Erskine.

“I go to church every weekend,” Hopeless said. Erskine had forgotten about that. Another reason why everyone thought his boyfriend was an upstanding member of society. Erskine wondered what his congregation would think of him when he came out. They’d probably still love him, which was good for Hopeless. “But you don’t. Why’d you go?”

“Ma made me. Abigail wanted to show me off or something.”

“That girl adores you,” said Hopeless. 

Erskine groaned. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“I think it’s cute. She probably has a crush on you.” Hopeless grinned. “I can’t say that I blame her.”

“You have a crush on me? That’s embarrassing,” Erskine said on cue.

“We’re dating.”

“Still.”

“So what did you think of church?” The look on Hopeless’ face, that sly little grin, told Erskine that Hopeless knew exactly what he thought of church. 

Erskine sat down in the secretary’s chair in lieu of answering right away. Hopeless leaned against his desk, but didn’t sit on it like Larrikin or even Anton might’ve been inclined to. “You know what I think of church,” Erskine said.

“Actually, I was under the impression that you didn’t think about it all.”

“I have no reason to.”

“But when you have to,” Hopeless continued like Erskine hadn’t spoken, “you become a bit… confrontational about it.”

“Hopeless.”

Hopeless opened his mouth to say something, but the second bell rang before he could get any words out.  _ Saved by the bell _ . Erskine hopped up from the chair he was sitting in and snatched the paper with the announcements. 

Erskine pushed a button on the speaker and began reading off the announcements. Hopeless jumped on his back in the middle of the Pledge of Allegiance like the scoundrel he was. Good Christian boy indeed.   

After Erskine was done reading off the announcements, Hopeless released him. Without dragging them both to the ground this time. “You’re acting like Larrikin.”

“Now you’ve wounded me,” Hopeless said dryly. “We all have a little Larrikin in us.”

“Some of us just hide it better than others?”

“And Larrikin doesn’t hide it at all.”

Erskine and Hopeless left the secretary’s office and headed down the hall. Their first periods were conveniently located next to each other, so they took their time strolling toward the South Wing. Some mornings, they loitered in the halls for up to fifteen minutes. No one ever paid Hopeless any mind about it, but sometimes Corrival would reprimand Erskine for it. If he found out. 

Corrival Deuce was the head of the social studies department, a teacher, but he was also something of a friend to Erskine. Mentor? Father figure? Erskine didn’t know what to call him. They talked sometimes. It wasn’t like Erskine had an actual dad to talk to. 

Fathers were kind of overrated in his friend group, anyhow. Hopeless, Saracen, and Skulduggery were the only one that had fathers worth mentioning. Erskine didn’t even know his father - and after hearing about how dysfunctional some of his friends’ fathers were, he was glad about it. 

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Hopeless said with a little wave. Erskine hadn’t even realized they’d made it to his classroom, he’d been so lost in thought. 

“Right. Bye, Hopeless. Have fun in AP Stats.”

“I always do!” Hopeless replied. Only a goody-two shoes nerd like him would have fun in an AP class. Even if he wasn’t really a goody-two shoes. He was still a nerd. Erskine felt a surge of affection for his boyfriend. How had he been so lucky to land him?

“Ravel?” barked a teacher from behind him. “What are you doing in the hall after the second bell?”

Erskine sighed. Why did this always happen as soon as Hopeless disappeared?

  
“Mrs. Lorial, we’ve discussed this before…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AP stands for Advanced Placement, and they're generally the hardest classes in the school. They revolve around prepping for a test that takes place at the beginning of May. I wouldn't recommend being late to them.


	3. Bad Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! 
> 
> Warning: Some offensive (anti-gay) language in this chapter.

Erskine tried not be surprised by anything Larrikin did. That is, he considered Larrikin to be a completely unpredictable entity. The best explanation for this un-humanlike behavior anyone had been able to come up with was that Larrikin could be a changeling - but Anton refuted this with a dry comment about how if Larrikin were any type of fairy, he'd probably have better luck with men.

Although Erskine had, regardless of the reasons behind it, accepted Larrikin’s natural state and usually didn't react to it, he couldn't help himself that day at lunch.

Erskine walked into the lunchroom and saw his friends at their normal table - and Skulduggery, Ghastly, and Dexter looked to be eating with them again - to see Larrikin, acting perfectly natural (which was suspicious in and of itself) despite the fact that he had a kindergartner sitting on his shoulders.

Erskine couldn't help himself. He plopped down next to Hopeless and asked, “Larrikin, what the hell?”

“Hell is a bad word,” chirped the kindergartener. She was wearing an outfit that mirrored Larrikin’s - an unremarkable t-shirt and jeans - and she had shoes that were so worn that it took Erskine a moment to realized they'd once had shimmering Disney princesses on them. 

“That's right,” Larrikin said approvingly. “For shame, Erskine.”

“He does pose a good question, though,” said Hopeless. “You still haven't explained why Annamarie is here.”

“I can't believe that you still expect logical explanations from him,” grumbled Anton. Hopeless just shrugged good-naturedly. 

“Annamarie? Larrikin, is that your sister?” Saracen asked. 

“You sound almost incredulous. Would you rather me have someone else's sister?” 

“Isn't she supposed to be in school?” asked Dexter. If there was a yearbook superlative for changing the most between grades, Dexter would win it. Since his father was sent to prison, he'd dyed his hair (rainbow - all seven colors) and done away with the angsty attitude. For the most part. And since he and Saracen had started dating, all of his hostility toward Larrikin had diminished. Imagine that.

“She is in school.”

“You know what I meant, smartass.”

“Ass is a bad word,” Annamarie contributed wisely.

“The elementary school has the day off. Marisol couldn't get off work,” said Larrikin. The fact that they couldn't afford a babysitter was left unsaid. 

Still, they had plenty of classmates in similar positions, and yet Larrikin was the only person Erskine knew that would bring her into the lunchroom for the whole student body to see.

“She sat in the office all morning,” Anton added vaguely. That translated to: the kid had a day off and all she got to do was sit around with the nurse - let it go.

“What grade are you in, Annamarie?” Ghastly asked kindly. Erskine hoped she wouldn't go on endlessly about it like Abigail did whenever she was asked a question. 

“Kindergarten,” she said. She laid her head down atop Larrikin’s. Erskine never considered small kids were. Of course he knew they were little - duh - but he'd never seen it so starkly as he did now with tiny Annamarie sitting on her brother's shoulders.

“Hey, Larrikin!” shouted a voice from across the lunchroom before any of the other boys could attempt to engage Annamarie in conversation. Erskine knew who it was by the sound of his voice - and he had a strong feeling that things were about to get violent.

When Larrikin didn't respond, Mevolent and his goons, Vengeous and Krav, stood up and came over to their table. Erskine scrambled to his feet, and he noticed Anton and Saracen do the same. Larrikin engaged Annamarie, Ghastly, and Hopeless in some asinine conversation, and Dexter and Skulduggery, though both still seated, watched the brewing conflict in a manner that implied they would jump in as necessary.  
“Larrikin’s busy,” Anton said coolly.

“We're just tryin’ to help the guy,” Krav replied gruffly.

“Yes, it looks like he has something on his head,” added Vengeous.

Mevolent nodded. “I know that kind of parasite; it's better to squash them when they're young.”

Anton looked calmed, but Erskine saw him clench his fists. Larrikin was still yammering on about something. 

“I hope you didn't spend too much time on that line,” Saracen said, “because I don't think it's quite as clever as you expected it to be.”

“Shut up, faggot,” snarled Krav, and he shoved Saracen - and then things happened quickly.

Dexter stood up, presumably to defend Saracen’s honor, but Saracen was already swinging at Krav. Vengeous lunged at Anton, and the two of them fell back against the table. Larrikin took Annamarie off his shoulders and handed (tossed) her to Ghastly across the table and went to help his boyfriend. Mevolent was fighting Skulduggery - and Erskine hadn't even noticed Skulduggery move, he'd been on the other side of the table - and he smacked Mevolent pretty hard, which sent the bully reeling back toward Erskine.

Mevolent grabbed Erskine’s sleeve, but Erskine shoved his hand away. Erskine tried to punch him in the face, but it ended up more like a clawing, and then-

“BOYS! BREAK IT UP!” 

The fighting stopped as quickly as it had started, and all the boys looked at Ms. Rose. Of all the teachers, Erskine thought, why her? Because everyone was afraid of her.

Ms. Rose was pissed.

As she began to rant at them about violence and inappropriate behavior and the small child they were obviously traumatizing, Erskine surveyed the damage. Dexter’s eye was already darkening - Erskine supposed he had stepped in against Krav - and Saracen’s lip was split. Larrikin had his hand over his nose, but Erskine couldn't tell if it was bleeding. Anton and Skulduggery looked unharmed. As for their opponents, Krav’s nose was definitely broken, and he was favoring his left leg. Mevolent had a scratch on his face from where Erskine had failed to punch him.

“-so why did any of you think that this was an acceptable way to handle your problems?” Ms. Rose finally demanded of them.

Both groups exchanged looks with their friends. The entire cafeteria seemed to be waiting for their answer. Ms. Rose tapped her foot impatiently. Erskine wasn't about to respond - they were all getting detention anyway, so why make it worse?

The answer, when it came, wasn't from who Erskine expected, but it also wasn't wrong: 

“Faggot is a bad word,” murmured Annamarie into the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't Larrikin's sister a cutie pie?


	4. People that Don't Understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited a few things in the first three chapters to make things more consistent with the previous works in this series.

“A cafeteria fight, Erskine?” was the greeting he received from Mr. Deuce. He genuinely cared about his students and often let them vent, especially if it was about one of the assignments he assigned. Then, he was known for respectfully and logically giving advice. Erskine always stopped by his room after school, a habit he got into freshman year when he used to come around to ask for help on his essays. He still asked for help on occasion - he wasn’t a very good writer, but Mr. Deuce knew a thing or two about prose. 

“Word travels fast,” Erskine commented, setting his backpack down. Sometimes, after school detention was served in Mr. Deuce’s room, but today it was empty. 

“I don’t know any details,” Mr. Deuce prompted. 

“Mevolent and his lackeys decided to pick on Larrikin because he brought his little sister to school. And then they insulted Saracen.” Erskine shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but administration thought differently, because all of them that had thrown punches during the fight were suspended for the rest of the week, and it was only Monday. In fact, Erskine was supposed to have left after the stern talking-to they’d received from the Assistant Principal, Ms. Crow. But he had a presentation in 4th period Drama, and he didn’t think it was terribly fair to leave his group hanging. 

Mr. Deuce looked up from where he was arranging stacks of papers neatly on his desk. His desk was the picture of organized, always, which was an amusing contrast to the haphazard way he dressed himself. He had no concept of matching colors or putting buttons in the right hole.  “Larrikin brought his  _ sister _ to school?”

“It’s Larrikin; are you really that shocked?”

“How old is she?”

“Six, probably. Young enough to sit on his shoulders for half the lunch period.”

Mr. Deuce shook his head. “Larrikin’s parents aren’t around, are they?”

“How’d you guess?” Erskine joked. It was pretty obvious that Larrikin and his sisters were on their own - although they dealt with it pretty well. How they retained custody of Annamarie, though, he wasn’t sure. He thought perhaps they were evading Child Protective Services, but no one had ever turned them in. Most people knew Marisol, Larrikin’s older sister, to be hard-working and honest, which was good enough for most of the people in town to turn a blind eye. 

“My incredible deduction skills. How long are you suspended?”  

“The rest of the week. Hopeless and Ghastly are the only ones not suspended.” Mr. Deuce raised an eyebrow questioningly. “They were babysitting.”

“Ah. Far be it for Larrikin to sit out a brawl.”

“Exactly.”

“What about your dear friend Mevolent?” Mr. Deuce asked, and Erskine rolled his eyes. He sat on one of the desks and pulled a granola bar out of his backpack to munch on. He hadn’t had much of a chance to eat earlier. 

“He, Vengeous, and Krav are also suspended. It’s funny; I saw him at church on Sunday and thought for a second that there was a decent guy hidden somewhere inside of him. Not that religion necessarily breeds good people.”

“The correlation between the two isn’t as positive as we would often think. I didn’t think you went to church.”

“It was a one time thing. It was pretty boring. It’s hard to believe that people start wars over it.”

Mr. Deuce gave him that look that told Erskine that he probably sounded disrespectful. Erskine tried not to roll his eyes. 

“I have to go pick up some work to do this week while I’m out, I’ll catch you next week,” Erskine said, and Mr. Deuce nodded and waved a good-bye. Erskine picked up his backpack and walked out, trying to decide if he really wanted to retrieve all his assignments today or just pick them up on Monday and do them next week. 

Erskine dug his phone out of his pocket and pressed the shortcut to his texts. He had one, from Hopeless, that had arrive just a couple minutes ago:  _ Where are you? _

_ school, deuces room. y?  _

_ Your mother just called me. _

_ what? y? _

_ She wanted to know where you are. _

Erskine checked his call logs. Three missed calls from his ma. Shit. That was what he got for forgetting to turn the ringer back on at the end of the day. And she would be doubly pissed at him, too, because of the whole getting suspended thing. 

_ where did she get ur #?? _

_ No idea. She sounded pretty upset with you.  _

_ ill call her thx _

_ Good luck.  _

Erskine pressed the little green ‘call’ button next to his ma’s name. The contact picture he’d set for her - an old one, one taken of the two them at the state fair when he was little - portrayed a closeness between them that hadn’t been there for years now. He sighed, them put the phone to his ear.

_ “Erskine Ravel, you better be dying.” _

“No, Ma.”

_ “Where are you?” _

“I’m at school. I’m picking up the rest of my work for this week.”

Ma sighed, which came out as an overwhelming burst of static over the phone.  _ “Son, is everything alright with you?” _

“I - yeah, everything’s fine.” He hadn’t expected that question. What would be wrong with him?

_ “It’s not like you to get into fights _ .”

“They were harassing a six year old, Ma,” he said. It was perhaps a bit of an embellishment, especially considering that Erskine was sure the goal was to harass  _ them  _ and not exactly Annamarie Larrikin. 

_ “What was a six year old doing at the high school?”  _

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I get home.”

_ “You’ll have to tell me tomorrow morning - and we’ll also discuss how long you’re grounded for. I have to get to work. I made you some dinner; just throw it in the microwave for a few minutes.” _

Erskine blinked. That actually wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. Maybe she was saving it for when they were face-to-face? “Uh, thanks.”

_ “And Erskine?” _

“Yeah, Ma?”

_ “I love you.” _

“I love you, too, Ma.” 

His ma hung up. Erskine stared at the old picture of them, wondering what had instigated such a bizarre day.  


	5. Ma

When Erskine woke up the next morning, it was nine o’clock. That was one good thing about being suspended - no waking up at the crack of dawn. He checked his phone leisurely: responded to a good morning text from Hopeless, liked some of Dexter and Saracen’s selfies on Instagram (apparently they were spending their suspension together), and posted a Happy Birthday message to his cousin on her Facebook wall. 

He got up to use the bathroom, brush his teeth, and pull on some sweatpants, and by then it a quarter ‘til ten. It was time for Erskine to face his ma, and he resigned himself to that fact. He shoved his phone in his pocket and went downstairs, not bothering to make his bed. He hadn’t done that much since he was little, and Ma had stopped nagging him about it around the time he started middle school. 

Erskine heard his ma while he was still on the stairs, but she wasn’t talking to him. She was on the phone with someone. Erskine didn’t think much of it initially; she often called her friends and her sister, and it was her niece’s birthday. But when he wandered into the kitchen, she hung up the phone abruptly - in mid-sentence, as far as he could tell - and that was definitely weird. 

“Who was that?” he asked, eying the thick house phone from where it’d been discarded on the table top. 

“Ah, the electrical company. They charged us more than usual last month,” she lied. Erskine knew she was lying because if she had been fighting with someone over bills, she wouldn’t have stopped on his account. He’d listened to her talk to those assholes countless times in that syrupy-sweet, false-polite tone. 

“Are they going to reimburse you?” 

“Yeah, yeah. They said they would. I’ll call them back if I don’t get a check in the mail this week.”

Erskine knew that his ma lied to him about money sometimes - namely, she let him think they had more than they actually did. It was why he stopped asking for useless crap for Christmas/birthday and allowance and the like. She would give as much of that to him as she could, and they really didn’t need to go bankrupt over some LEGOs. On that same note, he also knew that she used to have problems paying the bills on time - but that hadn’t happened in years, not since she started working for the Vexes. Thinking about that made him all the more certain that she hadn’t been on the phone with the electrical company because they probably couldn’t afford to simply hang up on an overcharge issue mid-conversation. 

With the exception of exaggerating their wealth from time to time, Erskine couldn’t think of an instance where his ma lied to him so blatantly. She’d always been pretty frank about topics that other parents shied away from: sex, alcohol, politics.

Erskine opened his mouth to question her, but no sound came out. Ma looked tired - her hair was messy, and there were bags under her eyes. He wondered if she’d spent all night catering to one of Esmeralda Vex’s lavish parties. It seemed to be the only think the wealthy woman was up to these days. Erskine might despise Dexter for his mother’s casual squandering of her riches, if the guy didn’t have a murderous crook for a father. 

“How long am I grounded for?” he asked instead. 

His ma seemed surprised, but she recovered quickly. “You aren’t.”

“What?”

“You’re not grounded, Erskine.”

“I’m not?”

His ma shook her head. “The school’s given you a punishment - and I expect you to have all that makeup work ready by Monday morning. But I’m not going to take your phone or make you stay here. You know fighting is wrong, and you know that I’d skin you for doing it, which leads me to believe you were doing exactly as you said - defending a child who couldn’t defend themselves.” She paused right there, as if to give him a chance to contradict her assumption. Erskine said nothing. It wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t exactly false, either. Or, that was how he’d justified it to himself. “If that is what you were doing, then how can I punish you? You did the right thing, even in the face of negative consequences.”

“They insulted the little girl and my friend,” Erskine said. “But I didn’t have to fight them. I shouldn’t have.”

Ma just gave a sad smile. “Thank you for being honest, son. But if we have sixteen year olds going around insulting six year olds, I think they probably deserved it.”

Erskine couldn’t believe it. She’d grounded him for less in his youth. Back-talking a teacher. Accidentally destroying the neighbor’s petunias . Stealing a stop sign. (Okay, maybe that one wasn’t less.)

“I just have to know one thing,” she continued. 

“What?”

“Why the hell was there a six year old in the high school lunchroom?”

Erskine laughed and sat down to tell her the whole story. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about his ma - the weird phone call, the letting him off for fighting and getting suspended - but he did trust her, for all her strictness. If he needed to know something, he trusted her to tell him. What else could he do to figure it out, after all?


	6. Salty n Peppers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long agh

Erskine had a week of free time on his hands, so he decided to make the best of it and pick up some extra shifts at the local grocery store, where he worked on the weekends. He hopped on his bike and rode down there not long after he finished talking to his ma over breakfast. 

It'd been a surprisingly nice conversation - she'd frowned over Larrikin’s sister's presence at the high school, but overall she seemed happy that he was talking to her about his friends. It probably helped that Erskine sanitized them a bit, though. She wouldn't appreciate their vulgarities - especially Larrikin’s.

Ma had also asked him if  _ all _ the boys were gay these days, at which point Erskine laughed and made a note to rely the conversation to his friends later. He then told her that  _ no, not all the boys are gay, _ and then,  _ only the cool ones.  _ Although, Erskine couldn't quite say if he was gay - he knew he was interested in Hopeless - but he didn't possess the certainty that, say, Larrikin did, about his sexuality. 

Erskine chained his bike to a pole behind the store, which was a locally-owned place called  _ Mac’s _ oddly owned by a man called Doug Stevenson. Erskine had never bothered to ask who Mac was or why Mr. Stevenson would name a grocery store, of all things, after them. Was it a compliment to have someone name their only grocery store after you? Erskine wasn't sure it was.

Erskine went in through the back and grabbed his uniform, which was really just a blue vest that said _ Mac’s  _ on it with name tag pinned on the breast, and threw it on. He ran into Maggie, one of his coworkers, on his way out onto the floor. 

“Ravel! Rue said you'd probably be around today. I hear you boys got into some trouble,” she said, winking at him. She was a nice enough lady with a habit of calling everyone by their surname. 

“Saracen's here?” That was unsurprising. It wasn't like there were many places to work in Sanctuary Hill, and Saracen liked to have pocket money. 

“He's restocking the peppers. It's slow today, only grannies around. Doubt Doug’ll pay you for the whole day, but I'm sure you'll get something.”

“Alright, thanks, Maggie.” Erskine went over to the produce section and found Saracen juggling jalapeño peppers and impressing an elderly woman with his skills. He took out his phone and recorded a short video of it and sent it to their group chat. 

“Hey, if you want pictures, there's a fee,” Saracen said mildly. He set the jalapeños down on the shelf with the others. The elderly woman wandered out of the produce section with the conclusion of Saracen's performance.

“Well, I took a video, so how much’ll that be?”

“More than you can afford,” teased Saracen. “Did you send it to me?”

“Sent it to the Dead Men,” Erskine said. The Dead Men was just the name of the group chat that they were all in. ( _ They _ being Erskine, Hopeless, Saracen, Dexter, Skulduggery, Ghastly, Anton, and Larrikin, of course. Erskine wasn't sure  _ why _ they were called the Dead Men, but he had a feeling Larrikin was behind it. According to Skulduggery’s sister Gamine, they were more like the Dead  _ Boys _ . Erskine could see where she was coming from.)

“Great, now Larrikin's going to try and one-up me.”

Erskine laughed. “ _ Try? _ ”

Saracen sighed theatrically, a habit that he'd adopted from Larrikin. “He's going to one-up me. He's going to juggle flaming peppers or something. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Music to my ears,” Erskine replied with a grin. 

Erskine and Saracen stocked the peppers with minimal inappropriate behavior, though once Saracen did try and throw a bell pepper to Erskine like it was a football, and it hit the cantaloupe display, which caused cantaloupes to roll onto the floor. Saracen then had to pay for the bruised cantaloupes (of which there were three) and the pulverized pepper. 

When they were done with the peppers, Maggie came around and asked them to carry in some boxes of cans from the storage room in the back of the store. She claimed that they were too heavy for her, but perfect for two strapping young lads like themselves. Erskine and Saracen both rolled their eyes, but went to the storage room to get the cans. They each grabbed a box - Erskine got various soups, Saracen got canned fish - and carried them over to the canned food aisle. As they were putting cans on the shelf (without tossing them about the store), a middle-aged woman wandered down the aisle, the  _ click-clack _ of her thick high heels echoing in the nearly empty store. 

Erskine didn’t pay much attention to her, so he was caught a bit off guard when she walked over to him and asked, “Are you Erskine Ravel?”

Erskine stopped shelving cans, and he noticed that Saracen did the same. He shot his friend a look that said  _ who is this woman?  _ but all Saracen had to offer him was a little shrug. She was dressed up, like she’d come from Dexter’s part of town, and she was wearing ruby red lipstick that made her lips look like they were popping off her face. Her platinum blond hair was held stiffly in place by a copious amount of hair product, and she had the strap of one of those dainty little purses wrapped around her wrist. 

“Um, yes,” Erskine said slowly. The only way he could possibly know this woman was if his ma had worked for her in the past, but Erskine didn’t recognize her face at all. 

The woman’s lips thinned into a ruby red line. “You have your mother’s eyes,” she said in an oddly contemptuous way. Erskine had never been insulted over his eyes before; in fact, many people commented on how pretty they were, how unique. 

“I know,” he said defensively.

The woman scoffed, and then she raised a freshly-manicured hand and slapped him across the face. Erskine stumbled, and then Saracen jumped between them and yelled at her to  _ get the hell out _ . She sniffed and trotted out of the store just as Maggie came running to see what the commotion was about. 

Erskine pulled out his phone and flipped on the front-facing camera so that he could see his stinging face. The sharp tips of her nails left shallow marks in the ruddy hand print that the force of her smack left behind. It was more than a slap, he realized - a deliberate scratch. 

“What happened?” Maggie demanded. 

“This crazy woman just walked up and slapped Erskine,” Saracen said. Erskine rubbed his cheek, but nodded in agreement when Maggie looked at him for confirmation. 

“She didn’t say anything?” 

“She asked if I was Erskine Ravel, and then she told me I have my ma’s eyes and slapped me,” Erskine explained. 

Maggie raised her eyebrows. “That’s it?”

Erskine shook his head  _ no _ , but then Saracen said, “She called him a bastard. Mumbled it under her breath when she stormed out, like he’d murdered her puppies or something. She was nuts, Mags.” 

Maggie sighed. “Well, we’ll have to leave a warning for everyone else to be on the lookout for her. In the meantime, let’s get some ice on your pretty face before it swells. It just isn’t your week, now, is it, boys?”

  
It really wasn’t Erskine’s week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone please draw me a picture of saracen rue juggling jalapenos 
> 
> (saracen and peppers is my new aesthetic)


	7. Secrets Come Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY!!!
> 
> December killed me.
> 
> But I'm here now with a new chapter and some news: If You're Unlucky (and my other story, Balance) will be updated every Saturday from here on out (next update's on the 7th). There will be a third multi-chapter story in this 'verse that will come out sometime after this one is completed.
> 
> Thanks to all of you that have been stickin' with me since I started, and for those you who are newer, thank you, too. All of you are awesome. Enjoy the chapter.

“What happened to your face?” Ma asked sharply when Erskine arrived home with a handprint on his cheek. No greeting, just the question. Typical, but Erskine had thought they were headed in a different direction after their conversation that morning. He supposed he’d jumped the gun with that estimation; it’d been a long time since they were anything but on edge with each other, and one conversation wouldn’t change that. 

Erskine grabbed a bag of frozen green beans from the freezer and held them to his cheek, although he’d already held a pork chop to it at Mac’s for a good half hour. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be so sore if that woman hadn’t put her nails into it, but she did, and here he was with green beans on his face and a hole the shape of embarrassment in his pride.

“A woman slapped me.”

“What woman?” Ma demanded. “Erskine, you have to stop getting into fights with everyone. Do you still have a job?”

Erskine rolled his eyes. He’d only been in the one fight recently, and as far as his ma knew, that was the only fight he’d gotten into since starting high school. “I didn’t get in a fight, and I still have my job. She came up and slapped me, completely unprovoked.” 

Ma froze. She didn’t stop and backtrack and apologize for jumping to conclusions; she actually froze. Her expression, one of annoyance and confusion, stayed on her face, and she stopped doing whatever she’d been doing over on the other counter - making coffee, it looked like. 

“What did this woman look like?” asked Ma slowly. She picked the coffee pot back up and continued making coffee, and curiously, she wasn’t looking at Erskine anymore. 

Erskine leaned back against the sink. “Rich. White. Blonde. She actually reminded me a little of Cruella de Vil, but that might’ve just been her coat. Or her attitude. A little older than you, I think. She told me I have your eyes, so I assume you know her from somewhere?”

Ma sighed. “Yeah, I know her. Alison Mevolent.” 

“Ah.” So, she’d probably slapped him because of his altercations with her - Erskine assumed - son. But then, why didn’t she slap Saracen, too? And why bring his mother into it? Was she really that immature?

“She doesn’t like me. I’m sorry she took it out on you,” Ma said, and though Erskine couldn’t see her face, he could hear the guilt in her voice.

“So this wasn’t about the fight?”

“Maybe a little, but it’s probably more about me.” 

“What did you do to piss her off?” Erskine asked. Ma didn’t answer for a long time; long enough for the coffee to finish brewing. She poured herself a cup, and then she poured one for Erskine without asking if he wanted any - but to be fair, he rarely didn’t want any. It was only after she’d handed him his cup that she finally decided what to say. 

“I slept with her husband,” his ma said, far too casually, and Erskine was taking a sip of the coffee. He choked and nearly spit it out, and then dissolved into a coughing fit. When he recovered, he looked up and saw a pinched look on Ma’s face. Her timing needed work. 

“You slept with - when? Why?” 

Ma shrugged, but Erskine could definitely see some redness in her cheeks. She wasn’t comfortable with this topic as her tone implied. “I thought I was in love.”

“You thought you were in love with someone else’s husband?” It’s not like Erskine thought his ma was perfect or anything, but he thought she was above that. Cheating. It left a bad taste his mouth just thinking about it - and God, if Hopeless cheated on him, he probably wouldn’t go slap the mistress’s kid, but he’d definitely slap the mistress. Unless he was the mistress. Erskine wondered if his ma ever slapped Alison. 

“Yes.” Ma gave him a challenging look, one that dared him to call her out for being some rich bastard’s mistress. Erskine may not have been the brightest guy on the planet, but he wasn’t stupid enough to do that. 

“Okay… um, so did she only find out recently?” Something else occurred to him. “Did it only happen recently?”

“Son, sit down,” Ma said, sounding tired and resigned. Erskine didn’t argue with her, just went over to the table, tossed the bag of green beans on it, and grabbed one of the chairs. 

“Sitting down, whenever you’re ready.”

“Alison’s known for some time, now. I used to work for Stephen, for both of them, back before you were born-” And suddenly Erskine thought he knew where she was going with this, why she was being weirder about this than necessary. 

“That son of a bitch is my father, isn’t he?” Erskine interrupted her. “Mevolent. That rich, uppity bastard with the son that hates me is my goddamn father, isn’t he? That’s why his wife slapped me. Of course.” Erskine laughed, but it was hollow because nothing about this was funny. This was… a nightmare. Beyond a nightmare. 

Erskine never thought much about his father. He’d never had one in his life. He’d never needed one, really, he had his ma and his friends, and that’d always been enough for him. Sure, he’d wondered where his father was, who he was, but he honestly hadn’t cared enough to ask after him. If his ma wanted him know, he thought he’d tell her, and if his father wanted to be a part of his life, he’d figured the man himself would come around. But, of course he hadn’t come around. He had a wife and not-bastard son. And he was rolling in money, so he probably had more mistresses and more illegitimate children scattered around the town anyway. 

Erskine was pissed. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why, except for the fact that he hated his newfound half-brother, Jace motherfucking Mevolent. 

Well, actually, his ma hadn’t confirmed his guess yet.

“Is he my father, Ma?”

“Yes.”


	8. Bad Reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry. 
> 
> Hamilton... kind of consumed my life. But I still love the Dead Men!!!
> 
> Whatcha y'all think of the Resurrection cover? Are you PUMPED?

Erskine left.

He left his ma in the kitchen, stormed out of the house, got on his bike, and left. He had his phone in his pocket, but he didn't feel it buzz. He assumed Ma was giving him space, for which he was grateful.

Goddammit, though. The Mevolents? Those self-righteous assholes? And his ma, a mistress? It made his head spin, made him see red, made his fists clench around the bike’s handlebars. He should actually stop riding, he thought, because he was in no state to pay attention to the world around him. He was in his own head, stewing.

Erskine hopped off his bike at a random spot on the sidewalk, in front of who knows’ house, and pulled out his cell phone. He pressed one of the speed dials and put it to his ear.

It rang out.

Erskine checked the time. It was only one thirty; Hopeless was in class.  _ Shit. _

Erskine sent a text:  _ I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!!  _ Hopefully, between the capitalization and the correct grammar and spelling, Hopeless would understand the urgency of the matter.

Not two minutes later, as Erskine was pacing a small section of the sidewalk like a caged animal, his phone rang.

_ “What happened?” _

Just hearing Hopeless’ voice was enough to calm Erskine enough to stop pacing. His blood still boiled beneath his skin, but… it boiled at a slightly cooler temperature now. If that made any sense. Erskine didn't feel like making much sense right now - because nothing in his life made sense. Fuck.

“My fucking father is Mevolent’s fucking father!” he shouted into the phone, and instantly regretted it because one, that probably hurt Hopeless’ ears, and two, who knew who could hear him. Erskine glanced around and didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean no one had heard.

_ “What?” _

“My father. Jace Mevolent’s father. Same guy,” Erskine repeated through grit teeth. “And his bitch wife just slapped me for being his bastard!”

_ “Whoa, whoa, slow down. Are you alright?” _

“Do I sound alright?”

_ “Where are you?”  _ Hopeless asked, doggedly persistent and unmoved by Erskine's scathing remarks.

“I don't know,” Erskine said. He glanced at a nearby street sign. “Caelan Boulevard.” What a stupid name for a street. What a stupid town. What a stupid day.

_ “I'll be right there.” _

“What? No. You can't skip class.” Hopeless had never skipped class in his life. He only ever missed school when he was violently ill.

_ “Yes, I can, and I'm going to because you sound like you need someone right now, and you're my boyfriend,”  _ Hopeless said in that ‘duh’ tone of his that was equal parts annoying and endearing.  _ “I can't ride my bike and talk at the same time, though. Promise to stay where you are and not do anything until I get there?” _

Erskine kicked a rock into the street. It didn't make him feel better. “Promise.”

Erskine sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, tossing his phone onto the grass carelessly after Hopeless hung up. He rested his chin on his chin and propped his elbow on his knee.  _ Dammit.  _ Why was he so angry about this, anyway? It wasn't like it was going to change anything. Jace Mevolent was still a jackass, and Erskine would beat that he didn't know they were related. Mevolent Sr. had been ignoring him for seventeen years. Cruella de Mevolent had gotten her hits in already. Yet, and Erskine couldn't explain  _ why  _ at all, he felt different. He wondered what it would've been like to grown up on the upside of town, with a white picket fence and a  _ brother.  _ Which one of them was older, anyway? Did it matter if Erskine and his friends were feuding with Erskine's  _ older _ brother or his  _ younger  _ one?

“Erskine?”

Erskine looked up to find none other than Larrikin towering over him, one eyebrow quirked high on his forehead. Great. Because  _ that  _ was what today needed, a sprinkle of nonsense.

“What are you doing here?” Erskine bit out meanly.

Larrikin, as per usual, didn't take the hint. “Going to Anton's. Hopefully gonna get laid,” he said.

Erskine could do to get laid himself. It'd be a good way to let off some steam. His boyfriend wouldn't go for it, though. Hopeless was an actual goody two-shoes about a few things, and sex was one of them.

“Well, far be it for me to keep you from that,” Erskine said drily.

Larrikin waved away Erskine's (false) concern. “Don't worry about it, we've got all week.”

“It's almost like you planned this.”

“Nope,” said Larrikin, popping the ‘p.’ “But it did work out for me, in the end.”

Larrikin sat down beside him. “So are you gonna tell me what's wrong now, or do I have to pester you until you do?”

Erskine sighed. Larrikin was a real pain in the ass; how he managed to keep friends was beyond Erskine. “Go away, Larrikin.”

Larrikin did not go away. If anything, he scooted closer. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“I can help.”

“Larrikin.”

“That's me!” Larrikin exclaimed, full of unwavering enthusiasm. “Tell me, tell me, tell me, tellmetellmetellme.”

Erskine couldn't help himself. He was too pissed for Larrikin's crap right now, however well-meaning it was. So he. Well. He slapped Larrikin. And none too gently either; it made Mrs. Mevolent's slap look like a kitten's nuzzle.

Larrikin rubbed his cheek with the back of his own hand. Erskine stared at him in abject horror, an apology bubbling in his throat, but Larrikin didn't look upset. The red mark stood out starkly between them. Any words Erskine might've had to say died on his lips.

“Feel better?” Larrikin asked softly.

Erskine blinked “No. Of course not!” Why would hitting Larrikin make him feel  _ better? _

Larrikin shrugged. “Worth a shot. I guess you'll talk to Hopeless about this, then?”

“This?” Erskine wasn't too keen on sharing that he'd slapped Larrikin with anyone. Oh, God. If Anton found out, he was dead.

His eyes must've bugged out of his head because Larrikin said, “I meant whatever you're pissed about. Don't worry about this,” he pointed to his cheek, “I provoked you intentionally. I'm not gonna have my boyfriend beat you up or anything over it.”

“Right,” Erskine muttered, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “Well. I'm sorry.”

Larrikin waved away the apology. He stood up and brushed off his pants. Anton's house - and Larrikin's own - must've been nearby because he was on foot. It struck Erskine in that moment that he'd never been to either of their houses.

“So, you're talking to Hopeless?” Larrikin repeated.

“Yeah. Yeah, he's on his way.”

Larrikin let out a laugh. He was the only person Erskine knew that could be filled with so much glee after being slapped by one of his friends. “Whipped.”

Erskine gave him a weak smile. “Something like that.”

“Good luck with whatever it is,” said Larrikin in lieu of goodbye.

“Good luck with Anton.”

Larrikin grinned. “Honey, I don't need  _ luck,” _ he said, and then he winked and just like that, he was on his way. Walking down the sidewalk like he'd never stopped in the first place, bright red splotch blooming on cheek.

Erskine watched him go.

What a mess.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you don't feel bombarded by these seemingly random OCs right here at the beginning, but I did need to do some scene-setting.


End file.
